


IN DREAMS ━ Jaime Lannister

by crownlands



Series: The Winds of Change [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bandits & Outlaws, Catelyn Tully Stark as Lady Stoneheart, Cersei Lannister Bashing, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Dreams and Nightmares, F/F, F/M, Fiora Clerick, God's Eye Outlaws, House Baratheon, House Clerick, House Spirre, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jaime Lannister Needs a Hug, Jaime Lannister Redemption, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, Laina Bolton, M/M, Maerwynn Piper, Male-Female Friendship, Margaery Tyrell is a Good Friend, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Original House, POV Female Character, POV Jaime Lannister, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Prophetic Dreams, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Redemption, Robin Hood References, Selyna Baratheon, Stannis the Mannis, Strong Female Characters, The Coin Cloaks, The Long Night, dante's inferno
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28904133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownlands/pseuds/crownlands
Summary: Selyna Baratheon was ready to fight for her father.She would help place the crown upon Stannis' head, and when the gods deemed it her time, she would ascend the iron steps of the throne to become the great queen that she was born to be.But the plans of the gods were never so simple, and Selyna, who was clever beyond her years, could never have predicted the fate they had in store for her.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Original Female Character(s), Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: The Winds of Change [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119803
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	1. Storms and Stars

**299 AC**

**DRAGONSTONE**

**THE NIGHT HAD** been long. Twice had she woken in a cold sweat, haunted by her dream — but _what_ was her dream? She couldn’t remember. The first time she jolted awake, the candle at her bedside still burned, and she had simply turned over and fallen back asleep. The second time, the candle was long burnt out, and the room had been flooded with darkness.

The only source of light was from the moon that cast its pale glow, splaying through the window and across the stone floor. Selyna found comfort in that; when all was dark, the moon always shined. Though she had a more troublesome time drifting back into her slumber, she felt comforted by the glimpse of the stars from where her head lay on her pillow.

It was only when the sun streamed through the windows, beaming down on the young woman’s face that she groaned, rolled onto her side, and dipped her head under the thick woollen blankets. Selyna Baratheon slept as though she were dead; her sister _insisted_ it was true. But Shireen didn’t know of the dreams that often woke her older sister; not a soul hardly knew, as Selyna herself couldn’t even recall what had frightened her so each time she’d wake with a shudder. The only two she had told — almost out of necessity, not want — were Matthos and Allard.

Matthos Seaworth was sweet and kind, and often unbearably so. He spoke words of her beauty, and though he clearly was not one to lavish her with pretty words — he could barely form a proper sentence around her — , Matthos was good-hearted and his intentions were pure. Around her, the young man was more nervous than naught, and she noticed his forehead would sometimes bead with sweat when she’d look at him for too long. He had kissed her only a fortnight ago, but little did he know that it was Allard that was the first Seaworth brother to kiss her first, nearly an entire year prior. 

Allard certainly had a _much_ different approach than that of his younger brother. When they were but children, he would tease and taunt her, though as they both grew older, his jabs manifested into fondness, and it was then she realized he was quite smitten with her. However, Allard was quite the philanderer, and had girlfriends in Oldtown, King’s Landing _and_ Braavos; that came as no surprise, as he was tall, handsome and charming, and was the captain of his very own galley. 

Out of boredom, Selyna would reciprocate his advances, but nothing more than frivolous flirtations, and she wouldn’t ever fulfill the fantasies he’d concocted in his mind; the fantasies he had the nerve to _tell_ her about! Though he would tiptoe around her in front of her father, Allard didn’t seem to care that she was a princess, but Selyna quite liked that. 

Selyna was observant and intuitive, and often callow, stubborn and proud. Her mother would scold her for the brash comments that would spill from her lips, but her father often looked pleased with his daughter’s strength of self. Stannis knew no sons as his heir, but he had said more than once that his daughter was more than suitable. He taught her to be brave and dutiful, while Selyse kept her fair and considerate. But Selyna found her Baratheon blood brought a surge of power deep within, though she kept it at bay. 

Just as everyone else, Selyna knew her father was a proud, stern man. He was stone-faced and callous, but would show his affection in smaller gestures; a quick nod of his head, or a subtle twitch of the corners of his lips. When others would notice, they would openly stare, as even a hint of a smile was a strange thing to see on the face of the stoic Stannis Baratheon. 

However, on the rare occasion when they were alone and not a soul was around to witness, his thin lips would find the side of Selyna’s temple, or upon the top of her head. There was never a word spoken to acknowledge such a thing, but there was no need to; Selyna knew Stannis cherished her — she was, after all, his eldest daughter and heir. The feeling was reciprocated during times she couldn’t help but let her fear show; during loud, unforgiving storms, or during the Siege of Storm’s End, and it was his icy hands that she found herself clutching onto.

The sun had already shifted before Selyna dragged herself out of bed. It was already well into the morning, and she’d surely get a disapproving but courteous comment from Dale if she were any more late than she usually was. In only her linen smallclothes, she threw open the doors of the wooden cabinet in the corner of the room. 

During their time in King’s Landing, finding a talented seamstress had been a simple task. For his daughter, Stannis would procure the softest furs, the finest Piper silks, and the clearest gems exported from across the Narrow Sea — he had only been inclined to do such a thing after it was clear she wouldn’t stop complaining if he did otherwise. Though it was unusual for a young lady to do so, Selyna sat and watched the women work, and would stare in awe as their needles transformed a few yards of fabric and thread into a gorgeous gown. 

With their return to Dragonstone, Selyna found herself often bored and longing for a new dress to fawn over, but as no seamstresses were on the island, she figured she’d make do on her own. With no new fabrics at her disposal, she could only pull apart the fine dresses she already had to make new ones. After many pricked fingers and uneven hemlines, Selyna produced dresses that were quite beautiful. Her fingers, nimble and steady, found a talent in forming beautiful filigree headpieces that she often wore; a placeholder for the real crown, she’d always thought. 

Selyna grabbed the first dress her hands could find; a burgundy-dyed gown with sleeves that stopped at the forearm, and a bodice of Myrish lace. A woven belt studded with Clerick rubies quickly found itself wrapped around her waist, and she hurried to step into her tall boots of brown dappled leather. She didn’t bother fussing with a brush, and instead combed her fingers through her long hair, tugging her way through the knots. After a few touches of rosewater dabbed onto her skin, she was ready.

With lifted skirts, Selyna ran from her chambers and down the staircase. She followed along the corridor with a pleasant sigh; it was a breezy, sunny day, and surely her training would go well. For _once_ , would be nice. Her hand trailed along the black stone walls as she made her way through the hallways. 

Dragonstone was dull and gloomy, and always smelled of ash and salt, though there were beautifully carved dragon motifs throughout the castle. Selyna always liked them, though a strange, sad feeling clung to each carving of the extinct beasts. Targaryens had ruled for hundreds of years until her late uncle had taken the throne. 

She thought Robert to be a great oaf of a man and had _always_ thought him to be so. Despite living in King’s Landing for half her life, she had only spoken to the man six times, and _each one_ of those times he had been drinking, flirting, devouring everything in sight, or all three at once. The thought of him made her nauseous, as she had unwillingly heard him whoring behind closed doors on a number of occasions. 

Her father had always been loyal to Robert, and had taken mumbled agreements from his brother seriously, though only two years prior had the king broken two promises in one fell swoop. Stannis intended for Selyna to marry well and had come up with the plan for her to wed Robert’s eldest son when he came of age. With that, each suitor that was suggested for the Baratheon girl was promptly turned down; after all, Joffrey was the heir to the throne, which would make Selyna a queen someday. 

However, the prospect crumbled when Robert named Eddard Stark as his Hand rather than Stannis, _and_ arranged for Joffrey to marry Sansa Stark rather than Selyna. The latter did not bother Stannis nor his daughter at all — they both knew Joffrey was a temperamental, sadistic boy, and after a certain truth was uncovered, the match was quickly forgotten about. 

No longer did the young “Baratheon” boy hold any weight; Stannis and Jon Arryn had learned of the boy’s true parentage — that of bastardry, born of incest between Cersei and Jaime Lannister. Stannis knew of Selyna’s disdain for her uncle and _all_ the Lannisters, and as of late, they shared the sentiment. 

In King’s Landing, she knew she wasn’t able to openly jeer at the king’s expense, so she made japes — and _loud_ ones, at that — towards the smirking Kingslayer and the rotten Imp with any opportunity she got. She hadn’t thought it odd she had no friends while she lived in the Red Keep, as she knew her behaviour was unconventional, and the young ladies of the court were far too dull for her liking. Instead, she had kept to herself.

“Well, there she is!”

Selyna grinned as she stepped through the stone archway to the ramparts outside. She lifted a hand to shelter her eyes from the beaming sun, making her way towards the four young men that awaited her.

“Of course she appears _just_ as my body was about to crumble into ash! How terribly cruel to make us wait,” Allard grinned. 

“You’re lucky I even came at all,” Selyna quipped. “Surely you can understand my displeasure at having to be around such rogues, and so often at that!”

The Seaworth boys all grinned; an insult was her usual greeting towards them. Selyna had been more than thankful to Lord Davos for bringing his sons to Dragonstone — all of them; even little Devan, one of her father’s squires. Life had been terribly dull before they came, and her only company remotely close to her age had been Ser Justin Massey, who in truth was no more than a flirtatious dastard in armour.

The young knight seemed to play a game with himself in flirting with Selyna when Stannis was not around. He had grown bolder with each act he had gotten away with; only the day before had he tucked her hair behind her ear on the balcony after supper, though his armoured hand dropped to his side with a clang the moment Stannis stepped outside. 

Justin was an attractive man, that much Selyna could admit. He was tall and strong, with pale skin, flushed cheeks, thick white-blond hair, and eyes the colour of a clear sky. Stannis and his men called the knight “ _the Smiler_ ”, as he was rarely found without a dazzling grin upon his face. Selyna often compared his charisma and looks to that of the Kingslayer, but found them both to be nothing more than scoundrels. 

Over a decade prior, King Robert had once held Justin as his squire, and the influence he made upon the boy left him with the same appetite for pretty women — a thing Justin often boasted about. Though it seemed like the knight thought that would make him more desirable in her eyes, Selyna’s thoughts often turned to Robert after looking at Justin, which only made her feel nauseous around him, too!

She had been more than grateful that Stannis was a hard man to please. With every man that would approach Stannis and imply his intentions with his daughter, Selyna knew without him yet speaking that he would refuse them with one look at the disapproval on his face. Even in King’s Landing, her father would never allow someone unworthy to befall his daughter, even if it would be considered an auspicious match in the eyes of someone less meticulous. 

There were many men that would have made an opportune match for her; the handsome Knight of Flowers, Loras Tyrell, had been an option at one point, and even the arrogant — and terribly handsome — Marq Piper. However, it did not seem to matter how many accomplishments they had made or how well-mannered and well-bred they were; none appeared to reach Stannis’ approval. 

With each year that passed, Selyna grew older and her beauty blossomed; she went from an awkward young doe with knobby knees and eyes far too big for her face, to a maiden as lovely as the evening moon. Much to Selyna’s dismay, a number of eyes were often caught upon her; ones that ogled her openly and obviously. However, each gaze would quickly be averted as soon as her father came around. 

“My, you look absolutely radiant this fine day!” Came the first of Allard’s daily dalliances. “A vision in wine-red, just as fair as summer’s first rose. Skin as smooth as porcelain, and—”

“Cease such flirtations, Al,” Dale scolded. 

Dale was the captain of the _Wraith_ , a sizable war galley, and her father once admitted he was quite the man for the position. The man was stoic, responsible, and easily agitated; understandably so, as he was the oldest of the seven Seaworth brothers. He held a commanding presence, standing over two heads taller than she did, with huge shoulders, a square jaw, and sincere brown eyes. He had a wife that Selyna never met, but had heard from Maric that she was a timid, mousy thing, and made a fitting match for the man.

“Come along, now; it is time for you to try again,” Dale told her. The bow he clutched in his hands was quickly passed to her.

Selyna knew she was a terrible shot; the bow seemed to overpower her somehow, even though Dale and Allard both told her time and time again that _she_ was the one controlling it, not the other way around. It had taken months and months to convince Stannis to let the brothers teach her how to use the weapon, but he finally gave in when she made the point that a queen ought to be able to defend herself. 

Despite Stannis allowing _only_ the eldest two of the brothers to teach her, Matthos and Maric frequently accompanied them as well. Matthos gave her kind words of encouragement each time she’d miss the target — which was often — and Maric seemed to join them just to tease her. 

Selyna released her hold, and the arrow found itself just barely hanging on to the bottom of the target — nowhere near her mark! With a roll of her sore shoulders, she sighed and looked towards the brothers.

“You’re only using your arms, Princess. Use your whole frame!” Dale tutted. He had told her that before ... _Many times_. He stepped towards her. “Forgive me,” he muttered. His hands found her shoulder blades, then drifted along the backs of her arms. “Use here, and here, and your chest.”

“And remember your anchor point,” Allard told her from where he sat on the stone edge of the rampart. “Your chin, remember?”

“ _Hold_ the draw, and _then_ loose,” Dale continued on, his voice strong and reassuring, “but do not hold it for long — _you_ are the one holding the weight, not the bow.”

Selyna nodded and tried again. This time, the metal head of the arrow clanged against the stone walkway. She hadn’t even _meant_ to aim for the ground, let alone that short of the target! The boys laughed, and even Matthos was trying to hide a smile. 

“You seem to be gettin’ worse, Selly! I never thought _that_ to be possible!”

“Stuff it, Maric,” Dale scolded. He turned back to Selyna. “Give it here, I’ll show you.”

Selyna passed him the bow and found a seat on the rampart beside Maric, giving him a playful shove. He was the fourth eldest and the same age as her, though they weren’t the closest of the lot — he often spent his time with the knights on Dragonstone. 

Though he was already an oar master on Stannis’ mighty war galley, the _Fury_ , Maric longed to be a knight, and made a plan to become one when Stannis was crowned king. He paid Selyna no mind, though he made a point to make japes of her archery skills whenever he had the chance. 

Selyna lifted a hand to shelter her eyes from the sun and watched as Dale continuously shot his arrows, each of them finding a mark. Of course not all met the bullseye, but at least _his_ arrows didn’t end up falling short of the target. 

“Blasted sun is far too bright to see properly,” Dale grumbled as his next arrowhead buried itself at the outermost rung of the target. 

“Why is it we can look at the moon but not the sun?” Selyna hummed.

“The sun beams too brilliantly to look at,” Allard answered. “Nothing should rival it.”

“Selyna does,” Matthos said quietly. He turned to look at her, clearly trying to avoid his brothers’ grins. “You outshine the sun.”

She chuckled. “I think I feel a closer connection to the moon,” she smiled, thinking of that very night before. “She speaks to me.”

Dale turned to her. “Perhaps you should speak to the gods instead,” he suggested. “Whichever of them you wish; it would prove beneficial for them to watch over your father when we set sail.”

“Yes,” Selyna murmured her agreement. The excitement shot a shiver up her spine; they were to leave for King’s Landing in only two days. “The time has come; the time my father and I have dreamt of. The throne will be ours.”

  
  
  
  


The night had fallen much faster than Selyna expected; the day had flown by. She supped with her family and the Lady Melisandre, and Selyna had avoided eye contact with the woman the entire evening, as she often did. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed upon her bowl. 

She never particularly cared for the dish, but it was her mother’s favourite, so she never fussed when it was placed in front of her; a soup of leeks, carrots, turnips, cod and crabmeat, all in a stock of heavy cream. The spiced honey biscuits she _did_ enjoy, as did Shireen, seeing as she had already eaten four of them. 

The silence that had overtaken the room was quickly disrupted as Shireen slurped her soup — _loudly_ , at that — all without breaking eye contact from her sister across the table. Selyna bit her lip as not to smile, and her eyes darted over to their father, who hadn’t even noticed the disturbance. Their mother, on the other hand, looked up from her own bowl, her face wrought with disdain. 

A scolding was quickly given after both girls broke into a fit of laughter, and Shireen was sent to bed without the sickly sweet dessert of honied poached pears. Shireen’s giggles carried on down the hallway, soon followed by that horrid jingling noise that Selyna ever so hated. _Patchface_. The giggles and jingles finally disappeared, and silence quickly flooded the room once more. 

Selyna took to her chambers rather quickly after her bowl was empty, though it was only her father that hummed his approval of her leaving; Selyse was enraptured, staring at the flames from the candles on the tables, and Melisandre watched her intently with a pleased look. 

The scowl that twisted on Selyna’s face was immediately expelled as she excused herself from the table; there was nothing she hated more than her mother’s ramblings of the Lord of Light, and Melisandre’s urging for her to ‘ _look into the flames_ ’, as though there’d be anything to see at all! That was not the only thing Melisandre had told Selyna to do, either; she often told her to use her beauty and charm to her advantage. 

Selyna knew herself to be a pretty thing; her mother had always said so. Selyse had cherished her since the day she was pulled from her, and often said that she was a gift bestowed upon her by the gods — and later, the one true god. 

Her mother was a bit strange; Selyna knew that. She knew that her parents had tried to have children before her, but they all came stillborn. After Selyna’s birth, they wanted more; they wanted a _son_. But instead, they got another daughter. 

Selyna thought it was Shireen that was the blessing, even with the remnants of greyscale clinging to her skin. Other people did not see it that way; Shireen often remained hidden in the shadows, while Selyna was brought into the light, showing off how greatly she shined.

Selyna yawned as she made her way through one of her books, then tossed it beside her on the bed. It was long past the hour she usually slept at, and the castle was quiet; she already heard her parents take to their rooms — their _separate_ rooms — at the other end of the hallway. 

She padded to her door, opened it slowly, then poked her head into the hallway; light still spilled from beneath her mother’s door, and Selyna figured she was still up saying her prayers to her lord.

With held breath and a hand cupped around her candle’s flame, Selyna tiptoed out of her chambers and down the staircase. She was pleased to find the large balcony all to herself. The candle was placed upon the thick railing, and Selyna leaned against it, her elbows cold against the stone. The breeze was cool, but she didn’t particularly mind. 

Large and looming, the moon had taken her place among the blanket of shining stars in the dark sky above. The reflection of the moon and stars on the sea’s surface had always been one of Selyna’s favourite sights; even in King’s Landing, though there, the stars were much harder to see. There were only four constellations she could remember from Shireen’s ramblings, and she could point out two at best. Her sister also shared the same romanticism of the comfort the moon and stars brought, though Shireen was more interested in the ever-changing patterns they made.

Small arms snaked around her waist, and she felt a face press against her lower back, burying into her hair. Selyna smiled down at the little hands that wrapped around her, gripping onto the fabric at the front of her bedclothes.

“You should be in bed,” she tutted. 

“I can’t sleep,” her sister replied, voice muffled in her dark locks.

Selyna placed her hands on top of Shireen’s. “Another bad dream?”

“No. No dragons this time.”

“Well, you can stay with me, just for a little longer, but then it’s off to bed,” Selyna replied. “If Mother finds us, she’ll be cross.”

Shireen pulled away then and shuffled to stand by her side, her palms resting on the cold stone balcony. Selyna looked down at her sister. Moonlight reflected on the grey, sullen part of her skin, until the candle flickered, casting a fiery red glow upon her sister’s face. 

“Go on, then,” Selyna whispered, turning her attention to the dark sky above. “Tell me what constellations you see this night.”

  
  


\-- 


	2. One's Reach

**299 AC**

**DRAGONSTONE**

**HAD HER MOTHER** been in the room, Selyna would’ve been standing as a proper lady should, however, Selyse was not one to attend her husband’s war councils. Instead, Stannis would request his daughter’s presence and certainly made sure she paid close attention; he wanted her to learn the ways of war. 

Selyna remained slumped against the table, anxiously twirling a piece of hair around her finger. None of the men in the room tutted at her unladylike manner, as they all stared at the immense table they stood around; even Davos’ stormy eyes were fixed upon a cluster of the small wooden tokens that littered the surface.

Selyna glanced around the room. The Stone Drum was Dragonstone’s central keep, and at the very top sat the Chamber of the Painted Table. It was a round room with walls of black stone and four tall windows that faced north, south, east and west. The most notable feature was the enormous slab of carved wood that sat in the middle of the room, stretching over fifty feet long. It had been commissioned by Aegon Targaryen himself before his conquest began, and his carpenters had shaped it in the form of Westeros, forming each jagged edge and curved bay perfectly.

Now, it was her father that sat at the head of the map, staring down intently at the painted tabletop. With a furrowed brow and rigid posture, his eyes trailed over the tokens placed upon the map. People had always said that Stannis’ mouth was made for scowls and sneers, and he often clenched his jaw so tightly that Selyna was afraid one day it would stay that way and she would never be able to hear his voice again. 

The dull hum of a monotonous voice intruded her thoughts, and she looked up at her great-uncle, Ser Axell Florent, as he rambled on of their plans.

“We shall sail straight into Blackwater Rush and unload our men upon the riverbank,” Axell said, pointing towards the tokens that sat by the Red Keep. “They will not expect such a fleet.”

“Perhaps sending scouting ships ahead would be most advantageous,” Selyna suggested, “and _afterwards_ a foothold could be seized upon the bank.” 

Axell leered at her from across the table. Though he was their _great_ -uncle, he insisted she and Shireen were to simply refer to him as their uncle; he had gotten quite tender over his age as of late.

He was short and muscular, with thick arms and round legs, and Selyna had always called him _Stump_ behind his back. He had a long crooked nose and eyes that were far too close together, and she thought him to resemble a shrew — _all_ the Seaworth boys agreed. Axell inherited the large Florent ears, and Selyna and Shireen often giggled over the amount of white hair that sprouted from them, wondering how he could hear anything at all! The man must not have known how loud his voice truly was from having such a hard time hearing. 

Selyna’s head would often ache if he spoke too much, as his voice was nasally, overpowering and quite irritating, and that was when he _wasn’t_ yelling; Axell was quick to anger at the slightest inconvenience, and she was often the cause of his outrage. However, the same obnoxious volume came when he was excited as well. As one of the most loyal of the queen’s men, Axell was _often_ excitable, especially with the events as of late.

After the arrival of the red priestess, Melisandre, half of Dragonstone had converted their beliefs to that of R’hllor, and one of the very first supporters had been the queen. There was a noticeable rift between Stannis’ men; those who followed Selyse and adopted their beliefs were called the _queen’s men_ , while the others remained the _king’s men_ , keeping the Faith of the Seven. Selyna tried her best to ignore the queen’s men as often as possible, as she found it foolish to believe in such a god at all — not that she was particularly devout to the Seven, either.

Axell Florent was one of R’hllor’s most fervent supporters as of late, much to Selyna’s distaste. When the Red Woman burned the wooden statues of the Seven, a great big grin had been fixed upon Axell’s face during the entire ceremony. He had served as castellan of Dragonstone while Stannis and Selyna were in King’s Landing, and certainly felt comfortable in his position while voicing his beliefs. 

It came as no surprise that Axell didn’t much like Selyna — she was just as unyielding as he was, and the two often clashed. Instead of returning from the Red Keep as a well-mannered, meek maid with proper court etiquette, Selyna was just as headstrong and brash as she always had been; she continued to speak her mind, even when sitting in her father’s war councils.

Her great-uncle was a stubborn fool and could not be swayed in his decisions, even when Selyna spoke to him as his niece; as his _family_. He was convinced that his brother and nephews would join Stannis’ cause at the treaty, no matter the outcome of the parlay. Stannis did not agree with the notion; House Florent was loyal to their Tyrell liege lords, and all of them had already declared for Renly’s cause — absent Axell, of course.

“We have four times as many ships as that bastard boy,” Axell told her with a wave of his hand. “There’s no need to heed such caution.”

Her reply was simple. “There is always a need.” 

“My king,” Axell scoffed, turning to Stannis, “certainly you agree she should not seek to speak out of turn. As always, the princess is here to _observe_ , not to provide her input.”

When Stannis nodded at her, Selyna slumped against the table again with a huff. _I am right_ , she thought to herself, scowling at her uncle. _Certainly Father can see the plan is a foolish mistake._

Axell leered at her from across the table; it was not the first instance she had challenged his ideas, but her great-uncle always insisted he knew more of battle than she did — that much was for certain in a physical sense, but he never took into consideration that Selyna learned how strategies were formed since she was just a girl. She would study the outcome of each battle, and Stannis made certain she would understand which tactics worked, why they did, and why others did not. Most importantly, she remembered each one.

“As I was saying _before the outburst_ ,” Axell said, giving her a look before turning back to the other men, “our fleet will sail into the Rush; our two hundred ships outnumber his four to one! Sixty war galleys of the royal fleet will be in the first lines, and the rearguard will be made up of the fifty Lysene galleys—”

“Twenty-five.”

They all turned to look at her.

“We have _twenty-five_ Lysene galleys from Salladhor Saan,” Selyna corrected him, “and _forty_ Myrish ships. Perhaps you should look over your numbers again, Uncle, so you won’t make that mistake again.”

Axell shot her a scornful look. “Insolent and headstrong, I dare say!” He tutted. He quickly turned to Stannis. “I do apologize, my king, she’s—”

“She’s a Baratheon,” Stannis declared, sending a steely look towards his uncle-in-law. “Did you really need to be corrected by a maiden less than half your age, Axell? Perhaps she should lead the fleet.”

Selyna chewed on the inside of her lip to hide her smile as Axell looked at her with an open mouth, not bothering to hide his contempt. Her father was right; she was a Baratheon through and through. Other houses had words of loyalty and trust, of love and honour, but their words, the _Baratheon_ words, were strong, powerful and frightening. Gooseflesh prickled at her skin.

_Ours is the fury._

“My nephew will be more than suitable!” Axell protested. “Imry is a smart lad.”

In truth, Imry Florent was a fool; as were most of the Florents for that matter, excluding Axell’s older brother and the head of the house, Alester.

“It is still not enough,” Davos said gruffly. 

Stannis was quiet, as was the rest of the room. Selyna’s eyes trailed over the many tokens around Storm’s End; _Renly’s_ tokens. It was said he had a hundred thousand men at his back, and the tokens showed that; it was a discouraging sight. Stannis and a majority of his host were to parlay with Renly in two days’ time; they required more men to take the throne, and Stannis wished for his younger brother to do his duty and join him. Together, they could destroy the Lannisters ... But such a thing seemed out of reach to Selyna.

“It is true you have the fewest men, Your Grace. However, you are most feared and revered; they will heed caution.”

Selyna looked towards the man who broke the silence. 

Ser Clayton Suggs was short and stocky, with a bald head and a mouth of half-broken yellowed teeth. His eyes were small and beady, and the pimples that formed on his nose often left behind scars on his mottled skin. The man was certainly strong and gallant as a knight ought to be, but Ser Clayton was also lewd and single-minded. Selyna couldn’t be around the man for too long; not because of his crude disposition, but because he reeked of sweat, onions and bacon grease.

“Renly has a larger host, but they will fight for your cause when they see you in all your glory, Your Grace,” Clayton continued. “Renly—”

“Renly is a fool, but he has ten times as many men behind him than I,” Stannis said bluntly. His eyes flickered up to the knight, trailing over each bead of sweat that trickled down his temples. “It would be unwise to disregard that. Though traitors, the lot of them, they are necessary for my cause.”

Selyna knew her father’s bitterness came from the title Ser Clayton had given to him; Stannis had told her in private many times that he wasn’t the king of anything, nor was she a princess. Not _yet_ , at least.

“A triumph for certain, my king,” Axell said coolly. “Surely the lords will see their folly and pledge themselves to you.”

“The Lady Melisandre has seen my victory in her flames,” Stannis replied. 

Axell’s eyes lit up at the mention of the Red Woman, and just as he opened his mouth to speak, the door creaked open. Selyna let out a sigh of relief; she did not intend to be in the room when Axell began gushing over his ridiculous Lord of Light. 

It was Bryen Farring that unknowingly came to her rescue. He was Stannis’ eldest squire and one of Ser Gilbert Farring’s sons, standing a head above his father and with a much more pleasant face. 

“What is it, boy?” Stannis grumbled.

“Please excuse my intrusion, Your Grace,” Bryen said, bowing lowly. He then looked to the other men circled around the table. “My lord father wishes to speak with you, Ser Florent, and you as well, Ser Clayton.”

He met Selyna’s eyes and gave her a courteous nod. With another bow to Stannis, the young man was gone, already hurrying down the steps with the two knights in tow.

“The rest of you, out,” Stannis commanded. The room moved to leave. “Not you, Selyna.”

When the door closed behind the men, a silence ensued. Selyna’s eyes drifted over the painted castle of Winterfell, drifting up towards the Wall. She heard Stannis shift and clear his voice before he spoke.

“Do try not to vex Axell once I take my leave,” he told her. Selyna glanced up at her father with a frown. “He will remember that,” he noted.

“I should hope so,” she replied. “Perhaps next time he won’t say an incorrect number and look like a fool.”

The usually hardened line of his mouth faltered as the corner of his lips twitched. “You’ve always been a tactical thing, and wise beyond your years,” he murmured, his eyes falling to the map. “I suppose that is my fault.”

“Your _fault_?”

“A girl should not sit on a war council.”

Selyna only shrugged. “I have always been exposed to the matter.”

He looked at her again. “Do you remember the siege of Storm’s End?”

“I remember the banners; the Tyrell rose, the Redwyne grapes, the golden tree of House Rowan. I remember Renly holding my hand when their drums sounded. I remember being hungry,” Selyna hummed. “And then came the reprieve; the white banners with the grey direwolf.”

“It was not the childhood afforded to a girl from a great house,” he told her. “That much I am certain.”

“It was the childhood afforded to a girl who will become a queen.”

Stannis nodded, his jaw clenched tightly. “When I am gone, the Iron Throne shall be your place. If I am unable to wear the crown, it will pass to you, my daughter and heir.”

“You _will_ wear the crown, Father,” Selyna insisted. “You will not—”

“If that is to happen, I ask one thing of you,” he interrupted. “Bring the Lannisters to justice; I have no doubt Cersei Lannister was the cause of Robert’s death. I _will_ have justice for my brother and his kinsman, Lord Eddard Stark … You were just a girl when he broke the siege. Do you remember the man?”

“I do,” she nodded. 

“And the bastard Joffrey took his head,” Stannis said grimly. “Certainly you remember Lord Arryn.”

“Of course,” she replied. “Jon Arryn was an ally.”

Stannis sighed and looked down at the map once more. “Westeros is wrought with false kings.”

She paused, knowing to tread lightly on the subject of her uncle. “What of Renly?”

“He, too, is fraudulent.”

“He is your brother. And my uncle. Must he die for this?” Selyna always liked Renly. They played together in Storm’s End during the siege, and though he was older than her, the two got along well. She remembered the delightful sound of his shrieked laugher when she chased him through the halls, even though the entire castle reeked of saltfish, onions and dead men.

Stannis glanced at her, his hands clenched into fists. “Anyone who attempts to usurp my throne will die,” he said. “I will fight to see that end.”

“Let me fight for it with you, then,” Selyna said. “Bring me with you; to parlay with Renly and to take King’s Landing. I want to come.”

“You must stay. If you die, who would sit on the throne?”

“Shireen,” she pointed out.

He shook his head. “You must stay.”

“But I want to help you!” Selyna insisted. She did not mean for her voice to become so loud and desperate. “If it’s my crown too, let me fight for it with you, right by your side!”

Stannis ground his teeth. “That’s enough, Selyna.”

“But—”

“I will hear no more of it!”

His sudden outburst did not shock her; she knew what his grinding teeth meant; his patience was at its end. The silence was almost as thick as the smoke that still lingered from burning the Seven. Though Selyna was said to be _impossible_ , her stubbornness paled in comparison to that of her father, who was known to stand as firm as the towers in Storm’s End that never shook nor rattled, no matter which winds were blowing. 

“Go on,” Stannis told her. “You should dress for tonight’s feast.”

“Yes, Father.”

Selyna sighed miserably as she headed down the staircase from her chambers, already dreading the evening though it had hardly begun; she felt far too anxious to attend a feast, let alone _eat_ . Her father was leaving Dragonstone, and her with it, to her annoyance. Perhaps it was childish for her to be so bothered, but she never intended to stay behind — it was _her_ throne too, after all. Despite being irritated, she felt rather smug; she was already late for the feast since she had taken her time bathing and dressing for the occasion. 

It was oft expected for her to wear a gown of darkened yellow satin or cloth-of-gold, or even perhaps black wool to suit the Baratheon colours, but Selyna had never been one to follow anyone’s expectations but her own.

Instead, she decided on a gown of plush dark blue velvet edged in silver, with flowing dagged sleeves that brushed against the floor when her arms rested at her sides. Freshwater pearls adorned the bodice as well as the silvered circlet resting upon her brow. Her slippers of bleached doeskin were soft and barely worn. A perfumed oil with hints of honey and wildflower was brushed lightly on her hands, collarbones, and behind her ears, and the residue on her fingers she combed through her hair. 

Selyna walked down the hallway, pacing her strides short and slow, trying to waste more time. She knew the feast would be a dull affair, with no music or dancing, and only rows and rows of hardened men eating some fish-based meal. Her hand trailed along every dip and curve of the black stone walls as she made her way through the castle.

“You look lovely, Princess.”

Selyna’s eyes rolled to the back of her head for a moment. Though the halls were darkened, she could tell it was Melisandre that had hurried to walk by her side; the woman’s voice was rich and feminine, and her accent laced her words.

“That is kind of you to say, my lady.” Selyna tried to sound sincere, though she had never been good at hiding her distaste for those she didn’t like. 

In the dim glow of the torches that lined the halls, she could see the woman. Head to heel, she was draped in red, as she usually was. The dress was beautiful, made of rich satin, and as bright as the flames of a burning fire. The necklace that was always clasped around her neck was a brilliant red gem — it wasn’t a ruby of House Clerick, as most nobles of Westeros donned; it was something else, glittering and glowing even in the dark of night. The most unnerving was her eyes, as red as her dress; a sharp contrast from her skin which was as pale as cream. Selyna was tall for a young woman, but Melisandre was even taller, standing almost at the same head as Justin Massey. 

The woman smiled down at her as they continued down the hallway. They walked in silence, heading towards the Great Hall, and the closer they got, the more clearly the muffled sounds of chatter became. The heavy red doors to the Great Hall were set into the mouth of a large stone dragon, with a number of black stone steps leading to them. Stationed outside were two footmen, moving to open the doors for the women as they ascended the stairs. 

"Pray to the Lord for your father,” Melisandre told her as they nearly reached the doors.

Selyna chuckled. “I thought you were certain of his victory.”

“He shall be victorious when the time comes; I’ve seen it.” She could hear Melisandre smile as she spoke. “But the night is dark and full of terrors.”

“My father does not fear the night,” Selyna said, turning her head to finally meet Melisandre’s eye. “Nor do I.”

Melisandre bowed her head slightly and paused as the doors opened, allowing Selyna to step inside first. Seated at the lower tables were the knights, footmen and sellswords that were to fight for Stannis. Some of their eyes lingered upon the two as they weaved through the tables. Selyna ignored their leering gazes, perhaps with a hint of pity; there were scarcely any women on Dragonstone — let alone pretty ones — and Stannis did not permit whores to take up residence on his lands.

“You’re late,” Selyse noted as Selyna took her seat.

“Lady Melisandre and I were speaking,” came her reply.

Her mother’s frown was replaced by a smile at the mention of the priestess, and Selyna returned it; she figured her response would be rewarded.

However, she knew Selyse certainly wouldn’t smile had she known the truth of the exchange that had transpired between the two. She settled into her seat and looked out at the hall, her eyes trailing over her father’s men. 

The first to catch her eye was Bryen Farring, sat squished between two broad-shouldered knights. He was good looking, with bright eyes, a mop of reddish-brown waves, and a cleft chin. Sometimes when Selyna was standing near him, it took much of her restraint not to reach up and poke the sweet dimples on his cheeks that showed up when he smiled.

Sat two men over from Bryen was Justin Massey, who glanced at her father then shot her a wink. When Selyna rolled her eyes, he grinned and returned to his supper. The men ate peppered trout, thick barley soup, and black bread of rye, while her family and the lords were served whitefish in a crust of garlic, onion and herbs, with buttered yellow turnips, and a salad of sweetgrass, red fennel and ripe blue cheese. Selyna’s cup was half-full with a wine that smelled of sweet orange, while Shireen sat to her right clutching a cup of nettle tea.

Shireen smiled up at her, then looked curiously at Selyna’s cup and the pale amber liquid that was inside. Making certain neither parent was watching, Selyna handed Shireen the drink. A small, quick taste was all Shireen needed to sputter and scrunch up her little face, and Selyna couldn’t help but laugh. She didn’t mean to, but she often _snorted_ when she laughed, and unfortunately for her, the hall had been quiet enough for others to hear. 

A number of the nearest-seated knights glanced in her direction as she hid her face in her cup, however it was only a small few out of the lot; the rest of the men continued their conversations. They spoke in low murmurs, as everyone knew Stannis did not approve of the ruckus that most gatherings brought.

The feasts at Dragonstone were certainly not the kind Selyna was accustomed to; in King’s Landing, Robert would insist on the most lavish of occasions, with hundreds of bodies cramped in one hall and music playing well into the morning. Gallant men would don their finest-spun tunics and maidens would wear their loveliest dresses. 

Selyna remembered the last luxurious feast she had attended and clung to the memory of it. She remembered dancing with young men, and how each jewel sewn into her skirts would catch the light and sparkle like a hundred lightning bugs in the night as they spun her around the floor. 

She remembered the touch of Lancel Lannister’s hand lightly placed upon her waist and his anxious rambling as he spun her about. She recalled Ser Arys Oakheart’s dashing grin and soft silken doublet, and how he noted the twirls of emerald and azure of her gown, and how her circlet complemented her eyes. She held onto the memory and knew she would do so for quite some time; Stannis would not be the kind of king to throw such a frivolous affair, so she had decided on an opulent feast for the day she would wear the crown instead.

But now, with the air smelling of ash and brimstone rather than wine and floral perfumes, Selyna certainly wasn’t at one of the whimsical feasts at the Red Keep. Thankfully the evening would not be long, as there was no dancing, singing, or merriment, and the men would be retreating to their beds as quickly as possible to get a few hours of rest before their departure at first light. She already knew her father, flanked by her lady mother and Melisandre, would be the first to leave the hall.

Selyna glanced over at her mother. Selyse had the large Florent ears — which Selyna had been spared, but Shireen had unfortunately inherited — along with a pointed nose, and the makings of a moustache on her upper lip. Her mother plucked it daily, but it seemed a tedious and useless task, as even more hair would sprout overnight. For Selyna’s sake, and Shireen’s, she hoped that the moustache wouldn't be passed down to either of her girls.

Suddenly, Selyna’s back went rigid as a jingling noise stood out amongst the clattering of forks and spoons. It didn’t take her long to spot the fool in the crowd; clearly, her father decided it would be suitable to allow him to sing that night as they supped.

_Patchface._

Selyna’s nose wrinkled with disgust. His stumbled, sideways walk was unmistakable, and the horrid contraption on his head made it worse; it was a helm fashioned from a half-rusted tin bucket, with deer antlers strapped to the top, and cowbells hanging on each rack. With every step, the bells would jingle and clang; a result of his manner of walking. 

“Under your ships, the green sea awaits.”

_Oh, stuff it._

“I know, I know, oh, oh, oh.”

Shireen once found joy in his songs, but as of late, they had scared her; she had told Selyna so. No matter what anyone said, the blasted fool would not stop — Selyna almost wanted her father to call the order for his tongue to be cut, but she knew that to be cruel. 

Patchface had been around since before she could remember — it was Stannis’ parents that had brought the fool from Volantis. She had never met Steffon nor Cassana Baratheon, for when they were returning home with their new fool, a storm caught their ship, and it crashed upon the rocks of Shipbreaker Bay. Their wonderfully large galley, the _Windproud_ , splintered and broke into pieces in front of Stannis’ and Robert’s eyes. 

As fate would have it, it wasn’t more than a day later that Selyna had been born, never to meet her grandfather or his lady wife. However, she _did_ meet the fool. 

Patchface had washed ashore three days after the shipwreck. She recalled hearing murmurs in the halls of Storm’s End that the boy had come alive after drowning, and the fisherfolk claimed a mermaid had taught him to breathe underwater. 

Either way, Selyna hated the blasted idiot. She hated his witless songs, his red and green tattooed face, and the jingle of his bells. Even Melisandre was wary of him, once calling him dangerous and evil, and it seemed to be the only sense that ever came from the woman. 

“You will leave this desolate place.”

Selyna looked to her mother as she spoke. 

“Just as Aegon Targaryen once did to conquer the Seven Kingdoms,” she continued, her eyes upon her husband. “You need not dragons; you have the Lord of Light, and your men behind you.”

“I have seen your victory in the flames, time and time again, my king.”

Selyna sneered at Melisandre’s lies. Nothing could be seen in _flames_! The notion was ridiculous. 

“Mother,” she said, turning Selyse’s and Stannis’ attention to her, “I’d like to go with Father to the parlay; I believe it would give me considerate understanding of the ordeal rather than hearing of it at a later time, don’t you think?”

“I certainly do not,” her mother frowned. “That is no place for a girl to be.”

“I’m to be queen someday,” Selyna retorted. “Surely _you_ can understand that!”

Selyse turned to her husband with a scoff. “Your daughter is just as stubborn as you are.” She returned to her supper, skewering a turnip on her fork and muttering to herself with disdain. Selyna leered at her mother’s profile, then glanced at her father, who had already ducked his head to pick at the whitefish left on his plate.

There was a hint of a smile upon his face. 

Selyna lay on her bed for hours, fidgeting with her blankets, her hair, and her bedgown. No matter how hard she tried, or which position she shuffled into, she could not sleep. She was still agitated from being left behind on Dragonstone — and perhaps a little lightheaded from the three cups of wine she had guzzled down to make the evening more bearable. 

She lay on her side staring out the window, hoping to count enough stars that she’d eventually fall asleep. Instead, she anxiously picked at the edge of one of her blankets until the threads began to unravel. There was an utter silence that flooded over the castle; Selyna couldn’t even hear the waves crashing over the rocks below, or the sounds of the crewmen from the beach preparing the ships for voyage.

_The calm before the storm_ , she thought to herself, shuddering under her blankets. 

There was a light knock, then the door creaked open. Selyna sat up, clutching her blankets to her chest. A shadowy figure stepped in the room, and it took her a moment to make out who it was. 

“You’re still awake,” Stannis noted.

“I could not sleep,” she replied. “Is it time?”

“Yes. My men are boarding their decks.”

Selyna’s eyes fell. “When will I see you again?”

“When the throne is ours.”

“Please, Father, take caution when you take King’s Landing. We lived in the Red Keep for ten long years. We both know the place, but we don’t know what _they_ have planned.”

Stannis almost chuckled, though it was more of a sharp exhale out of his nose as he sat down on the edge of her bed. “You will make a fine queen.”

“You’ve always taught me to be one,” she said. 

“You’re strong,” he nodded. “And beautiful.”

“I am a storm,” Selyna smiled; they were words he had always told her, especially when she was small and felt useless.

“You are more than that,” he said, studying her face as well as he could in the dark. “You were destined for great things; I’ve always felt it, deep in my bones. You will reach for the moon, and more, and I trust you shall get it.”

“Should I not hold tightly onto what I obtain?” She furrowed her brow. “One person can only achieve so much in the short time we are given.”

Stannis looked down at her. “One will always be defined by their reach, not their grasp.”

With that and a kiss upon her forehead, he was gone.

\--


End file.
